


Point of Succession

by B_Kishlian



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Movies), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: ...seriously I like guns, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Explicit Language, F/M, God I've never had to tag a fic before this is hard, Gore, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Murder Mystery, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Kishlian/pseuds/B_Kishlian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beyond Birthday has escaped from prison, taking Mello as his hostage. Hot on his heels, L is forced to seek help in apprehending B from the criminal profiler who knows him best: Light Yagami.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No I did not steal this fic, it is my fic, I am Jedi Master Bag, and after three years of other projects I’ve decided it’s time to finish this beast.

He walked down the narrow corridor, wary. His shoulders gently brushed against the white walls, cold to the touch, the contact drew goose bumps along his flesh - even through the thick fabric of his jacket. The steady ‘clack clack’ of his shoes against the tiled floor gave away none of his nervousness. From the exterior he appeared calm, visage collected in an expression of determination. However, though the determination was no lie, the calm was.

 

‘Cowards,’ he thought to himself with a grimace. The guards had given him the key to the door at the end of the hallway; but they refused to go any further than the entrance to hall. The idiots had left him there, with nothing more than a countenance of fear and the knowledge that if anything should go wrong there was a red button by the door he could push for help. 

 

He chuckled darkly at the fact, knowing that if anything were to go wrong with this meeting, the guards wouldn’t be able to reach him in time.

 

He stopped before the door. A small window was placed into its steel frame, allowing him to peer into the cubical. He observed the thin frame of a man huddled in the corner, head lolled to the side. Unblinking, the man looked directly at him. 

 

With trembling hands he laid the key into the lock. With a turn, a series of clicks echoed down the hallway, louder than they actually should have been. Perhaps it was his ears augmenting the sound into a warning bell, his mind beseeching him to turn and run, run back, run far. Run away. Closing his eyes he exhaled softly and pushed the door open.

 

...

 

“Light! Light!”

 

Caramel colored eyes glanced up at the woman approaching him. The young man responded to the dark figure with a grumble. 

 

“Damn kid, you been working all night?” Naomi Misora chuckled at the sight of her long time friend and colleague, Light Yagami. Officially, she’d been working with the brilliant rookie for only a couple of months, the boy having just gotten out of college. But she’d known him longer than that, since the day he’d left Japan for America. She’d be lying if she said her heart hadn’t adopted the boy as her kid brother. It was tough, she knew, being the foreigner, especially with government work. She took him in, trained him, fostered the caffeine addiction, and cut down his arrogance when necessary. 

 

The twenty one year old in question was sprawled in his desk chair, surrounded by the gentle, flickering hum of two computer monitors and countless piles of folders, loose papers, vibrant, yellow legal pads, and computer print offs. Empty Starbucks cups littered the floor, the scent of stale coffee permeating the small, windowless office.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, pretty much. There was a lot of superfluous information to go through. I don’t know who the hell you’ve got working beneath you, but it is my suggestion that you fire them immediately.”

 

“Oh don’t be that way,” she returned with a smile. “They’re good people.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Light scoffed in disbelief. “Now what are you doing here?”

 

“Its lunch time,” was her only explanation before turning out of the office, expecting Light to follow.

 

Groaning, Light stretched languidly, and swept his eyes over the mess he’d made in the last twenty four hours. Seeking out the fruit of his labor, he spotted the thin, manila file, neatly placed beneath a pyramid of dilapidated, Styrofoam cups. Grumbling inaudibly, he reached for the file and stood, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder. Kicking the door to his office shut behind him, he walked swiftly for the elevator.

 

“Damn woman,” he mumbled, jamming the button for the lobby of the FBI building. Coolly he leaned against the railing that lined the elevator, head resting against the back of the cold metal. Briefly he registered the ding of the door opening, admitting two more passengers. 

 

The fatigue was hitting him. The lines sprouting across his face were beginning to make him look older than his twenty-one years. Less than a year working with Naomi Misora and already the work was wearing down at his soul. For every one man he assisted her in clamping handcuffs on, there were three that got away. Hell that was putting it optimistically and Light wasn’t an optimist. He wasn’t about kidding himself. You couldn’t spend every waking hour of the day going over the motives, thoughts, and reactions of notorious criminals by thinking that the eggs would always be sunny side up. Sometimes the eggs burned, even when you stood over the stove babysitting them for the ten minutes it took to fry them, some of them were beyond saving. Some were just rotten.

 

Great, he was comparing his job to poultry spawn. Yeah, the fatigue was hitting him. Once more, he placed the blame on Misora. 

 

He wormed his way out from the back of the elevator and into the lobby. Setting a quick pace he pushed his way through the revolving glass door and onto the San Francisco City streets. Day light hit him unkindly, like a brass knuckle of sunshine straight to the eyes. Shielding his face from the harsh rays, Light grumbled to himself again, tracing the path to the restaurant he knew Misora would be waiting for him at. The salty air mixed against the chalky scent of concrete and marble around him. Breathing in the air, he had to admit it was a nice change from the re-filtered staleness of his office. There was just something about the scent of salt that cleansed his mind, helped him think. He could do without the sun, but the sea air was a newfound comfort to him.

 

Turning right down Van Ness Ave, Light headed towards the Indian restaurant on the corner of the block. Nann N Curry it was called. He’d figured Misora would pick a place to eat at that he hated. 

 

Walking through the door and into the dimly lit establishment, he wove his way around an array of wooden screens and onto the dining floor. Misora waited for him in the back, a mocking smile on her tanned face. 

 

“You know I don’t like Indian food,” he said curtly as he pulled out the chair opposite her.

 

“Too bad, I ordered you the Lamb Palak Gosht. How did you know I’d be here anyway?” she asked. She sipped her glass of water with a raised eyebrow, almost challenging. He knew she already knew the answer though. 

 

“You had that look on your face when you barged into my office, the look that plainly said ‘I want to make him suffer.’ And this is the closest Indian place.”

 

She laughed lightly at the comment. “Well we’re not here for enjoyment, so just deal kiddo.”

 

Light rolled his eyes at the taunt, more than used to her quips about his age, and handed the manila file to her. Delicately she opened it and scanned the contents.

 

“He’s not insane,” Light said, giving her a moment to pick out the finer details of his report. “At least not legally, which is all that matters to you.”

 

She nodded her head with a gentle hum, eyes narrowing as she got to the bottom of the page.

 

“Although the lack of mutilation would suggest a lesser interest in the actual victims, and more of a curiosity towards taking the lives of others, he was clean. Obsessive Compulsive if anything else, shooting and then washing the body down with bleach, as you know,” Light continued.

 

“Yes, but how does that not make him insane. You know me Light, all of them are psychos in my mind. I just want to know how I can take this one down.” Misora placed the folder into her bag and folded her hands on top of the table, steel gaze appraising the younger man. 

 

“It’s simple really,” Light supplied. “Booth’s notes were the ones that caught my interest in particular. When you went in for the arrest he was standing five feet from what would have been the final victim, five feet. Out of breath, Booth said he’d chased him from the rooftop of a supermarket. The culprit ran for the victim, and tried to shoot them with a sniper rifle at point blank range. That was the first time he strayed from his usual methods, and it was in an attempt to kill that individual.”

 

“But he didn’t do it,” Misora quipped, interrupting.

 

Light shot her a glare. Friend or not, he didn’t like being interrupted. “Yes, I know that. He broke down. He couldn’t kill when in close proximity to the victim. Most people who use guns do it for sport, or for efficiency. Your guy, he wasn’t a sportsman, didn’t toy with the prey at all, which leaves efficiency as the sole option. Each victim was left unattended for three minutes before they died. Again, the three minutes points towards OCD as there were never any deviations to that time span. They were shot from fifty feet away, straight through the head. When a killer uses a gun at that range, it’s not because they enjoy taking out there targets, it’s because they want it done fast, without pain, and most importantly, it’s because they don’t want to feel their victim die. That fear of feeling another person die shows he knew what he was doing was wrong.”

 

Misora nodded, following the logic of Light’s assessment.

 

“And if that wasn’t enough, I pulled up his high school records. The man failed biology because he refused to dissect a frog. Claimed it was inhuman to do that to the creature while it could still breath, paralyzed or not.”

 

Misora shot the boy a scolding look in face of his bad humor, but didn’t comment as their food arrived, the waiter carrying a tray of two dishes. Light’s mouth thinned into a line at the sight of what was placed before him. Thinly cut lamb was artistically arranged across his plate, spinach garnishing the entrée, wilting at the tips of the leaves. What was worse was the thick fumes of pepper and green chili, tangling in his nostrils amidst the thick, unyielding cream of curry. The mixture sent his stomach into a barrel roll, noxious and grating.

 

Once more Light reiterated, “I don’t like Indian food.”

 

“Hush and eat,” Misora commanded. “It won’t kill you, plus you could benefit from a little variation in life. Man cannot live off of sushi alone.”

 

“I don’t just eat sushi,” Light protested, but picked up his knife anyway, preparing to fight his gag reflex. “Now what else did you want to talk about? I know if all you’d wanted was my file you would have just taken it from my office without permission, not set up this whole afternoon debacle” he groused.

 

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of having underlings,” Misora said with a smile, savoring the flavors of cauliflower mixed with potatoes and tomatoes as well as the distaste that marred her companion’s face. She’d never said she wasn’t a sadistic big sister. “You my dear, are my underling. But you are right; I did want to talk about something else.”

 

Light sat up straighter, deciding that Misora’s feelings weren’t worth the stomach cramps the lamb would grace him with later, and set his plate to the side, nodding for the FBI agent to continue.

 

“L’s grown interested in you.”

 

Light’s eyes widened without his permission, the statement catching him completely off guard. L, The World’s Greatest Detective, was interested in him? Although Light was aware that Misora had worked with L in the past, most notably on the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. In fact, Light’s profiling of the case for one of his college papers had been what got him a position in the FBI as a Criminal Psychologist. Light was one of the few that knew Misora had worked as L’s agent on that case, she’d told him herself. She also told him that working for the eccentric sleuth was a pain in her ass, and way too much of a hassle than was necessary. So really it wasn’t that much different than working under her, Light noted. He only wished that one day he’d be able to tell her that fact without getting fired, or shot.

 

“You know this how?” Light asked after a moment of silence.

 

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. But Light could tell she was concerned over the matter. “He keeps asking about you. Wanting to know more about you, how your input affects the outcome of a case.”

 

Light blinked at her, the obnoxious scent of curry and lamb forgotten as he scrambled to review every detail offered to him. In the end he decided it didn’t amount to much. If L really was all that interested in him, he’d call on him himself. Just as he’d contacted Naomi. For the moment he supposed his rap sheet, the thirty eight cases he’d worked on in the few months he’d been at the Bureau, were remarkable for a rookie like himself. But he wasn’t a field agent, wasn’t even a detective. His job lied in riffling through the mind of a killer, playing around with it, and finding that one personality quirk that made them leap over the edge of socially acceptable actions. L was already adept at that, he wouldn’t be the world’s greatest detective if he weren’t. What use could he possibly be to the man?

 

“Light,” Naomi shook him out of his thoughts, drawing him out of his mind and back into the restaurant. “This isn’t something I want you to brush off.”

 

“Naomi,” Light argued. “You’re talking about one of the most powerful men in the world. If he wants me, it’s not like I’m going to have much choice.”

 

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

 

...

 

L munched solemnly on his cake. The flavors somehow seemed dull to his well trained pallet.

 

“Watari,” the detective called. “Where is this cake from?”

 

Watari entered the living room of the Palace Hotel Suit they currently resided in. “I acquired it from a place on the street level, Specialty’s I believe it was called. Why?”

 

L glowered at the cake, mentally admonishing the offensive dessert for being less than satisfactory. “It’s good, but it’s not that good. The strawberries weren’t in season.”

 

“That would be because it is almost fall sir, you cannot fault the bakery for that,” Watari chortled. “How about I bring you a chocolate, raspberry mousse?”

 

“And an M&M cookie, I would like one of those as well,” L responded before turning back to his laptop.

 

The image on the screen was of an attractive, young man from Japan. According to his intel the boy had been living in San Francisco and was currently employed as a Criminal Psychologist for the FBI. The boy, for that’s all L could truly think of him as considering he was almost a decade older than him, had been working there for a matter of months, fresh out of college. But his accomplishments were impressive.

 

L scanned down the list of cases the boy had taken part in. Three had been cases L himself had assisted on, though he’d been unaware the boy had played a crucial part in each of them until recently. Hence the detective’s interest in the kid. 

 

“Light Yagami,” L whispered to himself, tasting the way the name fell across his tongue. 

 

Top of his class. L noted a thirty four percent chance that the boy had a higher IQ than he did. That in itself sacred the detective. The only question that remained was whether or not the boy was brazen enough to work with. It was rare that L took an outsider into one of his investigations, but he couldn’t help but think that the boy could be an asset. Hell, on three cases in the last year he’d already proven to be an asset. 

 

‘But he’s a boy with a desk job,’ L thought sulkily. ‘What self-respecting college student accepts a desk job at the FBI?’ Most of them wanted field work, excitement. Post-college kids were adrenaline junkies, wanting to take life faster than it was coming to them. It made L think that Light Yagami possibly wasn’t up to the task of investigation, risking his life on the facts that he uncovered through gut instinct. 

 

L scrolled further down the boy’s profile when something caught his eye.

 

Light Yagami gained acceptance into the Federal Bureau of Investigation for his exemplary profiling of notorious serial murderer, Beyond Birthday. 

 

‘Well that’s interesting…’

 

Waving his finger across the laptop’s mouse pad L clicked on the attached file and began reading through the profile, not even noticing as Watari deposited a new cake and cookie to his left.

 

...

 

The computer monitor sat alone on a desk in a darkened room. The swift, buzzing fan of the actual computer came from beneath the desk, where the computer sat, keeping the room at a moderate temperature. A chat box blinked to life on the screen and a single phrase illuminated the vacant room:

 

Beyond has escaped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored teenagers with too much intellect - and not enough common sense - make bad decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and alerts friends!

Matt was bored.  The summer heat had dulled his brain, turning it into an all too familiar mush.  Of course it was hard to discern if that particular brain melt was a product of summer boredom or the fact that he’d gone through all seven hundred and forty three of his video games twice in the last thirty six hours.  It was a new personal record for him, but one that didn’t feel like much of an accomplishment. 

 

 

Briefly he contemplated trying to wash his hair out again.  It was still pink from two weeks ago when he’d dyed it just to prove a point to his dumb, blonde best friend.  Matt could have sworn the dye was temporary, but eighty nine washes with industrial strength dish soap later, he was beginning to think otherwise.  Seriously, if the stuff was approved to clean oil from a goose’s fucking feathers it should be able to remove the pink from his damn hair.

 

 

Flailing backwards the once red-head pursed his lips and stared up at the ceiling of his room.  Paint splatters and suspended chords smiled down at him mockingly, an abstract mess he’d insisted was a good idea at the time.  It was a statement.  Near had called it nesting.  Mello had punched him in the face.  The gray, blue, and green splatters tangled together in a mixture of what was supposed to be entertainment, distraction, instead it all looked muted.  The chords were covered in a layer of dried skin and particles that made up the dust of stogy uselessness, the paint had faded over the months.  There was nothing to do.

 

 

Where was that stupid blonde call-boy of his when he needed him?

 

 

Rolling off the mattress, he collapsed onto the floor in a make shift belly flop.  Grunting, he crawled to his feet and stumbled out the door into the hallways of Wammy’s House.  It was quiet, which was never a good thing for a house of adolescent geniuses.  Wearily, Matt set off for the room three doors down from his.  He already knew Mello wasn’t in his room; otherwise the walls of his own bedroom would be quaking with the occasional explosion and burst of righteous anger.  But everything was quiet. 

 

 

Matt didn’t want to ask Near for help.  Although he didn’t hate the albino child with the same intensity his best friend did, the kid really wasn’t one of the easiest people to get along with.  Not to mention the creepy, soul-less eyes.  Those just freaked Matt out.

 

 

The pink disgruntled teen reached the room of his best friend’s rival unnecessarily fast.  Steeling himself for the conversation he knew he’d later regret, Matt knocked on the albino’s door.      

 

 

A commanding voice came from within.  “You may only enter the inner sanctum if you have the appropriate password.”

 

 

Matt sighed in annoyance.  “I’m not in the mood Near, open the damn door”

 

 

“Language.  Now, what is the password?”

 

 

Matt banged his head against the door, the pink locks that fell in front of his eyes did nothing to ease his growing sourness.  Boredom really didn’t suit Matt.  Not that he was one for action, there was a reason he was only number three in Wammy’s House.  He lacked the drive that Near and Mello had to exemplify his brilliance.  Though, the fact that he’d reached third place without even trying did say a lot about his intellect, a whole hell of a lot in fact.  But no, Matt enjoyed simplicity more than anything else in life.  That was why he was a gamer.  Gaming was simplistic, reach the next level, get the points, save Peach, kill some dirty Reds, and reach the next level.  Only now, he was bored and ready for reality.  At least he thought he was.

 

 

“Damnit Near, open the fucking door!” Matt yelled through the solid wood, pounding on it relentlessly.

 

 

A scratching noise came from the other side of the door and Matt backed away quickly, leaving room for Near to open the door a crack. 

 

 

“I don’t believe that’s the password,” the petite boy said solemnly.  But he swung his door open fully and allowed Matt to enter.

 

 

Matt didn’t contemplate why Near had given up so easily on his little game, and he didn’t argue it either.  Doing so would be counterproductive to his cause.

 

 

The inner sanctum, as Near called it, was a mess of towers and toys.  Racetracks ran in loops through the air, held together by duct and electrical tape, some even touched the ceiling.  Apparently Near’s room defied all basic laws of physics – or maybe the boy had simply unearthed some previously undiscovered rules of physics and used them to better his “play-time”.  Matt ducked beneath a suspension bridge constructed of domino’s and an erector set.  Near brushed passed the older boy and sprawled himself back across the floor where monkeys, transformers, and stuffed toys were prepping for battle.  

 

 

“Have you seen Mello?” Matt asked as he observed the boy’s setup.

 

 

“No,” was the albino’s stoic response as Optimis Prime crushed Barney’s neck.

 

 

“Oh.”  Matt looked at the floor awkwardly.  Being in Near’s room always set him on edge.  It was disorienting to see a seventeen year old playing like a two year old, but in a way no two year old would ever play.  “Well do you know where he might be?”

 

 

“Why would I know where Mello would be?  He’s not my property,” Near said succinctly.

 

 

Matt scratched the back of his head, the awkwardness of speaking with Near grating on his brain.  This conversation was going to get him nowhere, not that he’d ever expected it to, but it was a nice thing to cross of his “How to Find Mello” list.  “Yeah, but he likes to torture you.  I’d think it’d be an act of self preservation on your front to keep tabs on him.”

 

 

“It may seem that way to you, but that is not the case.  Mello may try to hurt me, but his endeavors have never been successful.”  Barney’s head was now being placed on the tip of Optimus Prime’s sword.  When Optimus Prime had acquired a sword, Matt wasn’t entirely sure.

 

 

“Well, I’ll tell him you said that once I find him,” Matt responded, backing out of the room slowly.

 

 

“You do that.”

 

 

Matt shut the door to Near’s “inner sanctum” and retreated quickly, shaking his head in wonder at the smaller boy’s antics.  He’d have to take a different approach to finding his elusive friend. 

 

 

…

 Mello flicked another rock down off the beam and watched it plummet five stories downward.  On the moment of impact a ringing clink echoed back up through his ears.  He reached for another stone.  He’d set up a line of thirty or so rocks beside him.  Extending his arm outward, he let the rock fall, this time sure to make it hit the bell that was suspended beneath him.  The clear, sharp ringing gave him some sense of satisfaction.  It was the one thing in this hell hole that allowed him to feel something.  Being above it all and looking down on what deserved to be looked down on. 

 

 

Mello grabbed two rocks this time and chunked them downwards at the same time.  Physics taught him that they’d reach the bottom at exactly the same moment, given he released them from his hand at precisely the same moment.  The likelihood of that, Mello knew, was slim.  But the thick thud that reverberated from below and back up towards where he sat, bouncing off of beams and stained glass, it told him his release had been perfect.

 

 

A lazy smile graced the blonde teen’s features.  Gripping the beam he sat on, he swung his legs through the air and jumped to his feet, cautious of keeping his balance.  To fall five stories onto concrete would in no way make this a good day.  Not that it had been that pleasant to begin with.

 

 

Matt had been bitching about his hair again.  For some reason, the fact that it was no longer red bothered him.  It was the bitch’s own damn fault though.  Mello hadn’t made Matt dye his hair.  In fact, he thought it was downright hilarious that what had begun as an act to get back at him had transformed itself into a glorious nightmare for the previous red head.  Karma was awesome.   

 

 

With practiced ease he walked to the wall of the clock tower, treating the beam as a balance beam and ignoring the fact that one misstep meant that he’d be, well, dead, and peered through the glass that made up the clock face.  The dim lines of the hour and minute hands said it was nearing two in the afternoon.  Matt would be sending the Calvary out for him now.

 

 

Mello scowled at that fact.  Matt really could be the most annoying thing on the planet sometimes.  Did Matt ever think that the reason he couldn’t find him was because he didn’t _want_ to be found?  It was simple logic really.  But then again, Matt just liked to use him for entertainment purposes more than anything else.  Once the video games became trite, Mello became the game.

 

 

The blonde unwrapped a bar of chocolate and violently bit off a chunk, the creamy substance melting in his mouth deliciously.  If Matt wanted a game Mello would give him one.  The clock tower was usually one of the first places Matt checked himself after an hour of having others search.  Mello figured the stack of neatly folded chocolate wrappers that decorated the banister he’d been sitting on were enough to let his friend know he’d been there.  Hide and seek was a game that would never get old, as long as the stakes kept getting higher.                  

  

Suddenly, something from the street caught his eye.  A small white car rolled steadily by the orphanage.  Mello placed it at twelve miles an hour.

 

 

' _Idiot tourists,’_ he thought to himself.  _‘Don’t they know how to use a GPS system?’_

 

 

Resting his forehead against the glass, his eyes followed the car down the street.  At the end he watched it make a U-turn and drive back down.  And then it did it again.

 

 

His game of hide and seek with Matt forgotten, Mello straightened and watched the car circle back around for a fourth time.  A tingle drove down his spine in sync with the vehicle.  Eyes narrowed, he zeroed in on the driver’s window.  The windows were tinted; a silhouette was the only thing he could clearly see.

 

 

Frowning, the blonde’s eyes traced the car as it drove down the street once more, his rash mind building a tentative plan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Five year olds, assemble!”  Matt’s voice rang out across the mess hall, currently populated by himself and eleven other children.

 

 

The eleven kindergarteners’ attention snapped to the pink haired teen.  A few giggled at the sight of his fuchsia tufts of hair, framed by orange goggles, but a strict glare shut them up.

 

 

“Now, I’ve arranged you all into four groups,” Matt declared, walking between the children he’d organized.  As he’d been hoping, enough of them were occupying similar states of boredom that it didn’t take much to get them to “play” with him.  Now, as long as they didn’t find out who exactly they’d be searching for, all would be good. 

 

 

“Teams One and Two, you are recon.  T.1. I want you to scope out every inch of the Wammy interior, T.2. take the yards, I want every piece of chocolate and chocolate wrapper found!  Team Three, you’re in charge of surveillance, position yourselves in the monitor room, you guys will be my eye in the sky.  And Team Four, you’re on guard duty, protect the kitchen chocolate stash at all costs, do you understand me?”

 

 

“Sir yes sir!” The two five year old girls that comprised Team Four shouted.

 

 

“Good!  Now move out troops!”

 

 

“SIR YES SIR!”

 

 

Like an angry stampede of buffalo the five year olds raced out of the room, falling in line with their respective missions.  Matt chuckled after them.  You’d think after living here for the two or three years they had, they’d be aware that searching for chocolate meant seeking out Mello, or the “Monster Barbie Doll” as the younger children referred to him.  Sometime Matt wondered if the children Watari and Rodger brought in to the orphanage really were geniuses.

 

 

Matt followed after his herd of Mello Seekers, thinking out the best way to draw Mello out of where ever the hell he was hiding.  A bell rang out signaling the start of the two o’clock hour. 

 

 

With a smile, Matt headed for the clock tower.  At two in the afternoon, the sun still hung dauntingly high in the sky, its heat drying the grass on the lawn before his eyes.  Each blade crunched unhealthily beneath Matt’s shoes.  Digging through his jeans, the boy took out a cigarette and lighter.  Bringing the tightly wrapped, white stick in between his lips, he struck the lighter and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette.  Drawing in fumes, he felt his muscles relax a bit.

 

 

He was on edge for some reason, and it wasn’t just the offensive color of his hair.  Something was wrong.  He felt like there were ants crawling across his skin, digging their way down beneath the organ and into his blood stream.  His gaming thumb tingled. 

 

 

The sound of squealing tires drew his gaze from the clock to the street just in time to watch a white sports car floor it down the road.  That’s when Matt knew.

 

 

Unconsciously his pace across the lawn and towards the clock tower sped up, until he was flat out running.  Cigarette bobbing uncomfortably between his teeth, he raced for the stone building, hoping to any and all gods that Mello would be there. 

 

 

_‘Pleasepleasepleaseplease…’_ he mentally chanted, the words desperately ping-ponged themselves around his brain. 

 

 

He wheezed as he reached the other side of the lawn.  The tar building up in his lungs derided him painfully.  His cigarette had fallen from his mouth somewhere on the lawn and he hadn’t even noticed.  His hands were drenched with sweat, though he’d ran for less than thirty seconds.  Wrenching the door to the tower open, he dashed up the stairs, clambering loudly.  Pigeons squawked indignantly as he tore through their nests, mentally cursing the droppings he slipped on.  He could’ve cared less for the ugly poultry. 

 

 

The stairs ended on the third story of the building.  Mello would usually climb the rest of the way up to the banisters by scaling the walls.  But the beams were vacant; empty of the scornful, moody, blonde Matt had been hoping would be there.  All he found was pigeon shit and the light sent of chocolate.                           

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Ten Minutes Earlier_

 

 

Mello grumbled across the lawn.  His boots trudged over the yellowing grass quickly, drawing sloppy lines across the yard as he ran.  He reached the wrought iron fence in time to watch the white car meander by once more.  That made thirteen circles in the last five minutes.  They knew something.  And they weren’t very smart, or discreet, but maybe that was the idea, Mello thought. 

 

 

Agilely, Mello jumped and grasped the top of the fence.  He swung himself over and dropped to the asphalt.  Scanning over the ground he spotted a rock.  Picking up the stone he waited for the car to turn around and head back towards him.  As expected, the vehicle made a U-turn and started rolling towards Mello.  Heart hammering wildly, he waited, eyes focused on the windshield, the glare of the sun keeping him from getting a look at the person inside the car. 

 

 

The car came closer, slowing down even more as it neared the boy.  Some primal part of Mello’s mind urged him to run, to flee in face of the oncoming, steel predator.  Another part of his mind said this was a stupid idea.  But the more modern part of his brain, the logically illogical part said to wait as his reckless spirit told him to win, beat the threat.

 

 

The car was less than ten feet from him and inching forward slowly when he hurled the rock at the windshield.  Briefly, he wondered just how many times that rock would come back to haunt his ass.   

 

 

Unexpectedly, the car swerved out of the way of the rock, the driver having expected the boy’s actions.  Burning rubber filled the air as the car made a tight turn, traction control keeping the car on the road and out of the bushes. 

 

 

Mello stumbled backwards, falling against the iron fence.  The car came directly towards him.  Eyes wide, he scrambled to his feet as the vehicle came to a stop directly behind him.  Leaping wildly his fingers grasped the top of the fence, boots climbing up against the pikes that made up the fence. 

 

 

His ears picked up a fast coming whoosh from behind him and he dropped to the ground.  The pain that erupted as his head and butt bounced off the asphalt drove tiny explosions through his skull, but it was better than having a baseball bat make jell-o of his brain.  Then a boot made contact with the side of his head, and the world went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Near placed another card atop the tower, the pyramid already reached over four feet high.  Skillfully, he tilted the card against another, balancing them precariously.  Backing away from the tower, he turned to grab another card, and then came the fluttering sound of doom.

 

 

Whipping around, he watched as the pyramid collapsed, cards sweeping across the floor.  Blinking emotionlessly Near scanned across the mess for the culprit.  A crumpled piece of paper lay innocently in the midst of the wreckage.  Large black eyes stared at it from across the room and then to his bedroom window, mind rapidly putting two and two together.           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set up, set up, and more set up. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light is mysterious, L steps up his game, Mello is disgusted by Jam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for kudos! I appreciate it!

Light walked through the threshold of his one bedroom apartment, the clock on the wall reading one in the morning, as was customary.  He had caffeine to thank for the hours he kept.  Not that he was paid overtime, as low down on the ladder he was.  Dropping the keys onto the coffee table that also served as his dining room, he moved through the cramped space.  He didn’t bother to turn the lights on, his eyes already having adjusted to the minimal light of a single computer screen.  With a heavy sigh, Light just stood there in the dark, collecting his thoughts.

 

According to Naomi, he was set to become L’s shiny new pawn.  The news couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time.  If the great L was asking after him, he was also researching him, maybe even following him, though the latter thought made him scoff.  He was arrogant, not delusional.  And he’d just gotten comfortable with his current residence.  Now it seemed as if everything was coming at him, two different semi-trucks, one an oil tanker the other purified oxygen, both moving for him at one hundred miles an hour.  The result of this, no matter how he looked at it, would be flames.   

 

He settled into his desk; mind heavy as lead, his feet lightly knocking against the computer which sat on the floor beneath him as he faced the monitor.  Slowly, he removed a ball point pen from the pencil holder to his left and disassembled the writing utensil with practiced ease.  Pulling open his desk side drawer he removed the contents, case files, receipts, and scrap pages, he then took the pen’s ink cartridge and inserted it through the tiny hole he’d drilled into the bottom of the drawer.  The false bottom perked upwards smoothly, despite the years it had been since he actually looked in the drawer.  Removing the plywood, he glared at the innocent envelope that smiled up at him.            

 

Gingerly, he picked up the cursed thing.  It’d been sitting inside the hidden compartment of his desk for almost five years now.  Bidding it’s time for the opportune moment, which apparently was now.  Light didn’t know how he felt about that.  Time had flown by, that was for sure.

 

Despite his constant grumbling, Light enjoyed what he was doing.  Though Naomi refused to let him in on the chase, his work still filled him with elation.  The trembling he felt as he entered the frigid, unyielding clarity of the criminal mind was beyond comparison.  It was like a drug.  To place himself in the very soles these monsters had run ragged, to trace their mental steps, piece together the puzzle of insanity that had no definitive edges...  Light was pretty sure that the only reason he himself hadn’t gone over the metaphorical edge was because he had been granted to opportunity to pick at the minds of those that had taken a flying leap over it.  

 

 But he’d known it was only temporary, it wouldn’t last.  Nothing in his life ever did.  The monotony, that’s what would kill him in the end.  Once he found that piece of satisfaction, contentment, that’s when he’d go over the edge.  That’s when he’d feel useless. 

 

 There was too much filth in the world for him to sit idly by and just watch the sun rise.  The air would still be polluted, infested with the smog of lies, treachery, and murder.  The sun rise was red, tinted by the blood of innocents that had died.  There were too many people the world would be better off without.  But he wasn’t so naïve to think that killing them was all it would take.  He’d seen into too many of their dirty minds to know that _it_ was rooted there, a stubborn tree that could either flourish or wither.  What shaped the tree was the nurturing that sapling was provided, how often it was watered, weeded, and what is was taught.

 

 He didn’t know if he could’ve taken it.  Cleansing the world on his own, Light didn’t even want to begin contemplating the methods he would’ve used.  Again, it all came down to nurture, the way a person’s life was lived.  He’d see too many lunatics, crazy from the guilt and the theory that what they were doing was in the right.  Despite his superior mental capacities in comparison to the masses, he wasn’t sure if his mind was sound enough to keep sight of the long term mission in face of the moral sacrifice.        

 

 What Light did know was that, if he accepted the envelope’s contents he could kiss his career as a criminal psychologist and profiler goodbye.  He’d been with the Bureau for less than a year, and no matter how many connections Naomi had, she was still a woman in law enforcement.  And too damn trusting for her own good.  No, if he opened that envelope he was done here.  No more case files, no more salty air, no more Indian food. 

 

 With an exhausted sigh Light fell back into his desk chair, reclining it so he could glare at the ceiling of his apartment.  He could just ignore it.  That particular option wasn’t unavailable to him.  But it also wasn’t as desirable.  That would end badly.  He shook his head, hitting himself lightly against the head for even considering such a foolish notion.  He was Light Yagami, and he’d decided a long time ago that running was not something he would do.  He was committed to his vision, to _their_ vision.

 

 Spinning swiftly in his chair, he flipped open his laptop and logged on.  In the upper left corner of his desktop was a Word Document labeled “resignation.”  Double clicking on the icon he fluidly opened his email account and drew up his boss’s address.  Attaching the document, he hit send and let the little devil fly off into cyberspace.  There was nothing else to be written.  By tomorrow morning he’d be getting a nasty call from Naomi, but by then there was little she could do. 

 

 Moving out of the chair he set off down the hall, prepping to pack, envelope in hand. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Watari had said that he shouldn’t blame himself, but despite the old man’s reassuring words, L couldn’t help but feel responsible.  Then again, the guilt he felt was nothing compared to that of his caretaker’s.  He hadn’t been the one in charge of Beyond after all.  What did that mean then, L wondered, if he could tell Watari not to blame himself yet would still feel a shred of responsibility for one deranged child’s actions?

 

Beyond had been out to get him.  Taunting him, calling for him, like some dark siren whose call was as shrill as a banshee’s and just as un-ignorable.  Beyond had wanted to beat him, L, not Watari, _L._   Sometimes there was more to that title than the public realized.  And sometimes he wished he could just shake it all off.  At least that would take care of the guilt.

 

A minor bout of turbulence shook the cabin of the private jet.  L clutched his knees tighter to his chest.  He’d been all for hijacking a 747, his calculations showed that doing so would’ve been quicker than waiting the three hours it took for Watari to arrange a private flight.  But Watari put his foot down, something about remaining as inconspicuous as possible in face of L’s new case.

 

 It was a nightmare come to life.  But worse than that, it was a horror from the past, one he thought he’d locked away eight years ago.  If there was one thing about Beyond L didn’t take credit for with a guilty conscience, it was his insanity.  L knew perfectly well that Beyond wasn’t insane, twisted and sadistic maybe, but his doppelganger most certainly wasn’t lacking in clarity.  In fact, the man viewed things in a frighteningly lucid manner, disregarding the grey areas and seeing the world in a brilliant contrast of rainbow.  There was no black or white in B’s color spectrum, only the blood he could drown one in, the blue of a flesh wound, and the yellow-tinge of embalming fluid.  It came from the man’s eyes, and those L knew he’d been born with.     

 

Twenty four hour surveillance, four stories of earth piled over the cell, and concrete walls three feet thick, the man still managed to escape.  At least it wasn’t a mistake to have considered the boy a potential successor, L acknowledged bitterly.

 

 Staring out the plane’s window, L watched the American landscape move beneath him sullenly, not being able to help the memories that had only begun to resurface in the past hours.  He recalled the surprise, the offense he’d taken, feeling it a personal insult to have one of his successors – at that point the only one – run away.  Despite being a legend in the underworld, L was still human, and a proud one at that.  Most of all though, L had committed his past feelings of elation and determination, in face of Beyond’s abandonment, to memory.  The sour bile of disgust made L cringe in his seat, the tarnished emotions, the very things he strived for, he remembered those the best.

 

He’d been happy to hear that B had run away, for the first time in his career as a detective he felt as if he’d have a decent opponent.  B was someone from his level, a runaway teenager, but hopefully the challenge L had been searching for.  And then B had killed someone.  It only served to make the game that much sweeter.  B had been wrong in thinking that he had to work that hard to gain L’s attention, the boy’s existence and running had been enough.  But L recalled the glee he felt when Watari handed over the pictures of Believe Bridesmaid’s corpse.

 

B had had an influence on L beyond that of any other criminal he’d gone up against.  B made L feel lost, yet dangerous at the same time.  B made L feel as if he was standing in the pitch black of nothingness, gun in his pale hands, not knowing if that weapon was pointed at himself or someone else.  And when B had been caught, the disappointment L had expected to come with an easy victory, it never appeared.  L remained awash in a sea of excitement, his own flavor of insanity.    

 

“L!”  The Detective jumped at the sudden shout.  Cursing himself for letting his guard down, L turned to see Watari come rushing into the cabin from the cockpit, dismay evident across the old man’s wrinkles.  It was rare to see Quillish Wammy as anything other than grandfatherly, even when he was touting a Parker Hale M85 from the open door of a helicopter.  Staring quizzically at his caretaker, L nodded for the man to continue. 

 

“L,” the elder man gasped, “B’s taken Mello.”

 

Their game wasn’t over.    

 

 

* * *

 

  

He smelled coffee, and strawberry.  There was a lot of strawberry.  Even the leather his face was currently pressed up against held the sickeningly sweet scent of preserved fruit.  Mello scowled into the cushion, his stomach turned in protest at the awkward mix of cowhide and jam, or maybe that was the concussion talking.

 

He attempted to push himself upwards, but it proved to be a rather difficult endeavor given that his hands were tied behind his back with what felt like duct tape.  How original.  The blonde squirmed and turned his body over until he rolled off the couch and onto a marble floor.  His head let out a painful smack as it was once more abused, tiny fireworks exploding in bursts of light before his eyes, but at least he could breath freely now.

 

Slowly he let his eye lids rise, closing them every once in a while, adjusting to the harsh light.  _‘Chandeliers,’_ he thought.  _‘The room is filled with chandeliers.’_   Gradually his eyes came fully open and took in the sight above him.

 

Thousands of crystals glimmered down at him in tinkling, warm light, like raindrops frozen in time.  The marble floor beneath him was cold, and he shivered as a light breeze blew through the room and across his face.  Turning his head to the right he took in what more of the room he could see from his position on the floor.  It was a ballroom he realized, surprise adding itself generously to the mix of pain and disorienting shock that already occupied his mind.  Golden marble stretched out into an endless sea, stopping only as a wall of gilded banisters and white stained glass rose towards the ceiling in an intricate swirl of light and shadow.

 

With a grunt Mello pulled himself upwards into a sitting position, leaning his back against the black, leather couch. 

 

Glancing around, Mello’s head snapped up as he registered the quiet opening of a door.  A light shuffle rose across the empty space, growing louder as the individual drew closer to where Mello sat.  

 

Stilling, Mello ceased to breathe, all of his focus centered on the individual.  There was no doubt in Mello’s mind that this was his kidnapper.  The only thing that was keeping the blonde upright was the adrenaline, coursing so fast through his bloodstream that it acted as a stilt.  He felt more than heard the figure stop just behind the couch, staring down at him with a gaze that possessed all the intensity of a bolt of lightning.  It set the hairs across his body on edge, sizzling with electricity and the desire to never look at what stood behind him in the eye.

 

Sadly, Mello didn’t have that luxury.

 

 He felt the couch tilt backwards behind him, the individual seeming to be against just walking around the piece of furniture, instead he elected to climb over it.  The figure moved slowly, with the practiced ease of a predator, yet there was something dainty in the dips Mello felt in the couch.  It was almost as if his assailant was moving tentatively, childlike in curiosity, yet fearful of moving too quickly and setting him off.  It reminded Mello of the toddlers at the orphanage that would crawl over him when he passed out in the living room.

 

 A set of legs straddled his head, the figures body coming to rest on the couch, directly behind where he sat.  One spindly leg leaned itself against his left arm, the other against his right, effectively pinning the bound boy to where he sat on the floor.  Long fingers combed through his hair and Mello had to fight the urge to flinch in disgust at the touch.  The fingers clenched around his hair and roughly pulled his head back.  The assailant then leaned over him, bringing their faces less than an inch from each other, thin lips, curled in a leering smirk of victory, almost kissing his forehead.                     

 

Blood red eyes pierced Mello’s, and the blood that ran through his own veins froze over, the adrenaline that had been keeping him conscious becoming no better that molasses.

 

His mind supplied the name, though every fiber of him wished it hadn’t, and it came out from his mouth in a whispered hush.  “Beyond Birthday.”

 

Now there was nothing but fear.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 Matt drummed his fingers furiously against the arm rest of the chair Roger had situated him in.  Two feet away sat Near, absentmindedly twirling his hair around his finger.  For some reason the action pissed Matt off to no end.  Near always twirled his hair, it was a normal thing for the freak do.  But how the hell could he act so natural when everything was so _wrong_.   

 

  _There’s no proof Mello was kidnapped,’_ Matt reminded himself.  _‘He could just as well be hiding somewhere.’_   If there was one thing Matt was absolutely good at, it was lying to himself when it came to his best friend.

 

The door behind the two boys opened and Roger stepped into the office. 

 

Matt was on his feet in an instant.  “What’s going on!” he demanded.

 

“Matt, sit down,” Roger commanded.

 

“But - ”

 

“ _Sit._ ”

 

The boy complied reluctantly and returned to his seat.  As Roger sat behind his desk, the expression the older man directed towards the boys was all Matt needed to know. 

 

' _Shit,’_ he thought.  Matt knew this was Mello’s fault.  The blonde was too damned reckless, never thinking things through, just trying to prove himself.  Internally Matt berated himself for leaving his foolish friend’s side.  He could’ve prevented this, done something to stop it, knocked some sense into the thick skull he sometimes suspected didn’t even contain a brain.  That or he could’ve been taken too, thrown into the trunk of that white sports car along with Mello.  God knew it’d be better than sitting in this office with a condescending old man and an albino teenager that possessed no human emotion whatsoever.

 

“Matt,” Roger spoke finally, looking sternly over at the teen.  “I know what you’re thinking, and this is not your fault.”

 

Matt laughed snidely.  “Oh I know that, it’s that leather wearing bitch’s fault is what it is!”

 

“Language!” Roger admonished.  “That is no way to talk about your friend Matt.”

 

“But it’s true.”  A mechanical voice flooded the office with white light as the overhead projector flickered to life, casting the far wall of Roger’s office with a large, gothic L.

 

“L, it’s nice to hear from you,” Near said politely, turning to face the projector screen. 

 

“Near, Matt,” the letter acknowledged.  “I’ve just received a scan of the note Beyond left - ”

 

“Note?” Matt interrupted the detective.  “What Note?”

 

“The note left in Near’s room,” L replied simply.

 

 Matt turned to face the boy in question, fire exploding in his eyes.  “There was a _note?_   YOU HAD A NOTE AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?”

 

 Unaffected by Matt’s shouting, Near answered without moving his eyes from the L on the screen.  “I already showed it to Roger, there was no need for me to inform you of it as well.”

 

“THE HELL THERE WASN’T!  MY BEST FRIEND JUST GOT FUCKING KIDNAPPED!”

 

“Excuse me, but I have very little time for your uninspired language Matt.  Near took the appropriate measures.  The note was tossed through his window an estimated three minutes after Mello was assaulted.  Knowing what I do of Mello, Beyond would have needed to assault him in order to take him as effectively as he did,” L continued, brushing Matt’s outburst aside.

 

The screen flashed and the L was replaced by the image of a crumpled piece of paper.  On it were the words, written in what looked to be a green crayon, ‘I took the boy for Jam, he looked like he could use some.’ 

 

“As you can see, there is little we can actually gain from the note, other than the fact that it actually was Beyond who kidnapped Mello, and that the man is taunting us.”

 

“What makes you so sure?”  Matt inquired.  Beyond Birthday was a legend amongst the children of Wammy’s house, and something of a cautionary tale.  From what he knew the man had run from Wammy’s after the first in line, A, had committed suicide.  Wheat her it was because of A’s suicide or not, no one actually knew, some went so far as to think that Beyond had actually killed A himself.  So far there was no proof to that claim.  L had caught Beyond sometime in 2002, Matt remembered, same year the LABB case had begun.   

 

“While Beyond was frolicking through the streets of Los Angeles, he disguised himself as me and went by the name Rue Ryuzaki.  He also ate a lot of Jam,” L admitted after considering Matt’s question for a moment.  “I have no doubts regarding the security of Wammy’s House, nor do I believe that there was a leak of information to anyone outside of the orphanage.  I’ve also asked the authorities to keep Beyond’s escape from the public, which means that there’s little chance of someone framing B. ”

 

“Why are you telling us this?”

 

“Why?” L asked as if he’d thought the reason was obvious.  “Because I’d like you to assist me in capturing Beyond.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

L wasn’t sure if he’d made the best decision in bringing Near and Matt into his game with Beyond.  But the rules had changed.  Beyond was using his and L’s past to get at something, and this time L was certain B’s goal wasn’t him.  Out of every Wammy resident, B knew the best that L did not affiliate himself with the establishment, for the safety of the children and himself.  It had been what set B off from the beginning.  No, if B were to go after L again he’d do something different, something that would get L’s attention, and only L’s attention.  Kidnapping one of his successors, that message was intended for someone else.  L already had a vague idea who.

 

If, however, B was going to use his successor against him, then L was going to use his successors against B.

 

He didn’t doubt that the two teenagers had the minds to manage it.  What they did lack though was discipline.  They existed in a comfort zone, each of them, even Mello –though he refused to admit it, had grown complacent with the order of succession.  Near was coasting through his subjects, just doing enough to maintain his position.  Mello had grown more concerned with pranking the top student rather than actually beating him to be first in line.  And Matt, L could tell that Matt just didn’t care.

 

This just might be the push the three of them needed to reach their full potential.  L just hoped it didn’t end up being too hard of a push.  They were children, inexperienced in life, and had no idea how the mind of a criminal really worked, never mind all the past cases and crime simulations the orphanage had had them go through.  They’d spent their life behind an iron fence, sheltered from what lay outside of it.   

 

L had briefly entertained the notion of bringing Light Yagami into the fold as well.  The boy’s background and knowledge of B was paralleled only by L’s own, and that was because L had watched the murderer grow up.  But L had quickly scratched the plan, the last thing he needed was a mediocre investigator endangering the lives of his successors more than he already was.  There was a time and place for things and this was a Wammy matter, not Light Yagami’s place or time.

 

Yes, L thought certainly.  Yagami could wait for a later case.  This was about him, B, and his next successor.  Whoever the hell that would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting used to formatting on here, it's way different from FFN and FictionAlley, so learning curve. Haha. 
> 
> Anyway, things should start picking up with the next chapters, so bear with me through the exposition!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B's inflections are annoying, Light is still mysterious, L hopes, Watari disproves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a good portion of the B Mello scene three hours to the right of midnight, so it’s a little loopy. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!

“You resigned!” Naomi Misora’s shrill voice echoed out from Lights cell phone speaker and through the airport terminal.  Nodding apologetically to a family of four, Light hurried down the hall towards gate 3C, pulling his luggage along, boarding pass tucked neatly into his jacket pocket.  He prayed that the heavy clicking of his shoes against the grey tiled floor would be enough to drown out the outraged woman, but going by the looks he was getting from the strangers around him, that wasn’t the case.     

 

 

“I told you I would only be working at the Bureau temporarily Naomi,” Light interrupted in the vain hope that she’d shut up.  “I don’t know why you’re so shocked.”  Okay, actually he did, and he’d been expecting her adverse reaction.  But that didn’t make the tone of voice she was using any more tolerable.

 

 

“Light, you _resigned_!” the woman roared, her shout laced with floored disbelief.  “After only, what, five months!  I can’t believe you would actually do this, that you’d be so idiotic to throw away _everything!_ This was your first real job out of college, how do you think that _looks_?  _Five months!_   Who the hell is going to hire you now?  Fuck, who’s going to work with me now!  I’ve already got a reputation!”   

 

 

Light heaved another mental sigh, the eighth one for this particular conversation.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he’d just done to himself by quitting.  For the second time in his life he was running on faith, faith that he could survive all that was about to happen.  He couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision to leave San Francisco though.  Either it was too early for him to _actually_ regret that particular decision, or the sea air had killed most of his brain cells.  Either way, he knew somewhere along the line he’d be screwed.    

 

 

Light listened, half-heartedly, as Naomi Misora continued to rant at him.  Smiling politely, he handed the flight attendant his boarding pass and moved into the tunnel that connected to the airplane, ignoring the woman’s concerned glance at his raging cell phone.  His seat was in first class, how that arrangement had been made, Light had no idea.  Taking the seat by the window, he fumbled with the envelope tucked in his breast pocket.

 

 

Smirking slightly, he interrupted Naomi’s pointless ramblings of annoyance.  “I’ll miss you.”

 

 

Silence met his statement, and for one glorious moment Light thought he’d quieted her.  Reclining, he let his mind revel in its ability to actually hear itself. 

 

 

“Don’t you pull that seduction crap on me Yagami Raito!” But of course, nothing ever lasted.   With an internal groan he brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose irately.  “I’m not some blithering female, or male for that matter, that you can charm with that silver tongue of yours!”                

  

 

“Naomi,” Light shushed her again.  “I’m already on a plane.  Your shouting at me is useless, and frankly, it’s giving me a migraine.”

 

 

“You’re on a plane?” she asked in shock.  “Where the hell are you going?”

 

 

“On vacation.”  With that he hung up and turned his phone off.      

 

* * *

 

 

Skilled fingers combed lightly through Mello’s hair, every now and then they brought a towel dowsed in antiseptic crème to his scalp, cleaning away the blood and dirt that had crusted through his hair.  The strangeness of the situation was not lost on the teenage genius, his kidnapper, actually bandaging his wounds, gently and carefully.  The darker portion of Mello’s mind believed it was nothing but a game, the murderer caring for him so he’d lower his guard, and then the real pain would come, in what form he could only imagine. 

 

 

Beyond had kept him tied up though.  The duct tape was digging into his wrists painfully as he continued to fight against the restraints.  The adhesive was already leaving faint scars across his flesh, like acid eating at the skin cells.  Futilely, Mello squirmed as Beyond brought another stinging dose of disinfectant to his head, his hands pulling away from each other and against the bonds.  

 

 

“Stop that!” Beyond admonished playfully, his free hand reaching down to quell Mello’s fidgeting arms.  “I know burn scars look cool, _especially_ mine because they’re so _pretty_ , but I don’t think they’re something you want to get from _tape_.  Such is only slightly pathetic.”

 

 

Mello tried to escape from Beyond’s hands, but the thin man gripped painfully onto the boy’s shoulders and pulled him back into place.  B enjoyed the feeling of having Mello quivering beneath his hold.  The boy shuddered as he was gently placed back against the leather couch.  B spread his fingers out against the younger boy’s skull and smirked, applying pressure to the colorful bruises that had blossomed across the skin.  Mello let out a sharp gasp, B’s touch eliciting an unwanted wince from his thinning lips.  Beyond reveled in the sound of the light pain, his eyes soaked in the colors that went with the sting. 

 

 

It was beautiful, he thought while he continued to pet at the boy’s hair, occasionally letting his fingers stray down the back of the boy’s neck just to watch him squirm.  B’s smirk wound its way into a smile as he listened to the boy’s breath still.  If only the child knew, the real ceasing of inhalation, it could come just as easily.  A twinge of viciousness spun its way down the length of Beyond’s arms, through the tendons of his fingers, and into the tips of his nails.  Delightedly, he raked his nails through Mello’s hair, eyes narrowing in pleasure at the sound of the boy’s hissing.  Drawing the roughly chewed out keratin down the neck that lay openly beneath him, B fought the urge to growl in delectation as he drew bright red ridges along the flawless skin. 

 

       

Slowly he brought his head level with Mello’s, poising his lips right against the lobe of the younger boys.  “I _would_ however be more than willing to set you on _fire_ ,” he whispered tauntingly.

 

 

Mello gaped in shock, fighting the urge to turn and stare at his kidnapper.  Beyond Birthday’s actions had taken him completely off guard.  He’d labeled the serial killer as one for experimentation, the type that would care for his prey peculiarly, relishing the different ways another could die.  Beyond Birthday was the type to inflict pain, draw salted daggers across open flash wounds, saw off one finger at a time, alternating hands and curdling the blood so the body wouldn’t spoil, cut open a man’s skull just to watch dust particles settle across the nerve endings.  Or so he thought.  Instead, Mello found himself being toyed with like an insect.  He felt like a fly, wings crushed and leashed to an escaped convict as a dry source of entertainment. 

 

 

Mello had been awaiting torture, what he found was a child-like bully. 

 

 

 “You’re quiet?  _Why?_ ” B asked, his voice soft as he removed his hands from Mello’s hair and leaned back against the couch, staring sullenly at the back of Mello’s head.  He wanted vocal protests, questions, something more than the pensive silence the teenager before him offered.  It was _dull_.

 

 

Despite the fact that is felt as if his vocal chords were dripping with hot glue, scalding yet thickly bonded shut, Mello was able to articulate a perfectly caustic response.  “Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, torture me?  I can’t imagine you brought me here just to give me a scalp massage.” 

 

 

B cocked his head to the side in amusement.  It was cute the way the boy acted tough.  “Oh I’m not _insane_ , more philosophically _unsettled_.” 

 

 

With a stretch Beyond reached over his head and grasped the back of the couch.  Arching his body upward he vaulted over the piece of furniture, he smiled carelessly at the rush of air moving through his hair.  With a soft flop he rolled onto the floor and started grappling beneath the couch, hand patting around the plush carpeting for the blade he knew he’d left there.  Nimble fingers enclosed around the sharp metal, the thin blade cutting into his own callused flesh.  Grinning in face of his protesting nerves, he drew the blade out from under the couch and climbed back over the seat.  With a flurried movement he sliced the tape off of Mello‘s hands.

 

 

“Honestly, it’s _hardly_ worth the effort to harm you more than I _already_ have.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “physically at least.”    

 

 

Beyond watched, face caught between childish mockery and enthusiasm, as Mello brought his wrist’s into his chest, simultaneously turning to face the murderer while scooting back a good fifteen feet from him.  Mello didn’t know if it was the guy’s ragged jeans, or his oversized gray tee shirt that hung off one shoulder, revealing a skeletal stature, but something in his mind demanded that he reject the creature sitting in front of him. It was his survival instincts telling him to get as far away from the other human as possible.  Though Mello was still debating if ‘human’ was the appropriate classification for Beyond Birthday.    

 

 

The man wasn’t unclean, could he use a new wardrobe, yes, but Mello had to admit that the man was well groomed for an escaped convict.  Rapidly, Mello’s mind assessed the fact that they seemed to be residing in an expensive ballroom, which possibly meant that B was receiving copious amounts of financial assistance from some outside source.  It wasn’t as of the man could just walk to the bank.  But, there was something else about Beyond, an entity separate from his appearance, that set Mello on edge.  Like a pheromone, secreted from B’s pores, warding off others, telling them that beneath the Cheshire cat smile was a madness that would devour them.  For Mello, that was a lot to take in. 

 

 

Beyond cocked his head to the side again and extended his head outward.  Like a turtle emerging from its shell, the man managed to stay firmly seated on the couch, yet come to hover three feet from the actual couch. “You look a _little_ pale,” he commented.  “Perhaps it would make you _feel_ better if I were to skin your back?”

 

 

He asked the question as if he were suggesting a message, something playfully innocent and designed to benefit Mello’s health, yet containing a naughty undertone.

 

 

“I could even drill tiny screws into the _bone_ and stretch rubber bands across your _back_!” B suggested helpfully.  “If you’re _flexible_ you’d probably be able to flick them yourself.  Make _some_ music!”

 

  

“No that’s okay,” Mello stammered, unconsciously scooting further away from the madman. 

 

 

At that moment a phone rang from the confines of B’s pockets.  Glancing at the pocket as if it had committed some unspeakable crime, B extracted the phone.  Mello assumed he had caller ID because the moment B’s red eyes took in the lit up screen, they widened in excitement and, if Mello was reading the man correctly, a small tinge of lust.

 

 

“ _Darling?_ ” B purred into the phone.

 

 

Mello strained his ear to hear who was on the other end of the phone, but he was too far away to register any sound other than B’s own voice. 

 

 

“Oh _goodie_ you’re coming!” B replied to whoever he was conversing with.  “I _so_ look forward to hearing more from you _darling!_ ”   Hanging up, Beyond continued to bounce like a two year old in his seat for a minute, hands shaking with impatience.

 

 

After a moment of what Mello took to be consideration, Beyond jumped to his feet and skipped over to a large table that was situated a ways behind the couch.  Standing hesitantly, Mello followed after B, trying to make out the contents of the table.  His eyes widened as he was met with the sight of a giant board game unlike any he’d ever seen.  The board was about three feet by three feet, vaguely Mello placed it as belonging to some sort of fantasy role playing game.  He’d seen kids at Wammy’s playing something like it.  But the pieces on B’s board, they were an amalgamation of every type of board game piece one could find.  Chess and checkers’ pieces scattered themselves across the square spaces accompanied by jacks, Monopoly pieces, and die cast race cars.  Mello was pretty sure he even saw a few cardboard game pieces from Candyland.      

 

 

The blonde was used to grand acts of immaturity, having grown up in a house of child geniuses, but the sight before him was just wrong.  Yet, as he watched the grown man skip happily around his insane gaming creation, Mello couldn’t help but think it fit B. 

 

 

Coming to stand on the side of the table opposite B, Mello asked, “Who was that?  On the phone?”

 

 

He watched as Beyond picked up one of the Candyland pieces, Queen Frostine, and moved it closer to Princess Lolly.  It concerned Mello that he was able to recall the names of the characters, but it frightened him even more that he felt a little put out over the board’s lack of Gloppy the Chocolate Monster, who had been Mello’s favorite character as a kid.   

 

 

“That was my _darling_ ,” B replied dreamily.  “Yes, _Darling_ is coming to see _me_!  He reminds me of _A_ you know, brilliant, a _visionary_ , true believer in all that justice crap.  He’s a _romantic_.  I suppose that’s why I adore him so _much_.”

 

 

Mello relaxed slightly, his shoulders were still tensed, but the pain in his head was abating.  He was pretty sure he’d been drugged before regaining consciousness if the muddled soup his brain was rapidly turning into was anything to go by. 

 

 

“What do you believe in?” Mello asked, not entirely sure where the question was coming from, or why he was even relaxing in the presence of a mass murderer.

 

 

“ _Me_?”  Beyond blinked at the question.  “I believe _in_ death.  Taxes, _not_ so much.  But death is very real.”

 

 

The murderer leaned across the table and plucked a small red plastic mouse for the board, delicately pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, and then stuck it right before Mello’s eyes.  The man had to climb onto the table to do so.  Mello blinked at the plastic toy, its petite nose barely touching his own.  The thing had lacked eyes Mello noticed, it seemed that a pair had been carved into the plastic, almost as big as the thing’s body.  The blonde jumped as B abruptly slammed the toy down next to Princess Lolly, directly beside a black knight.        

 

 

 “You _remind_ me of myself _Mello_ ,” B said, crawling closer to the teenager.  The man settled himself into a crouch that in no way could have been comfortable.  Drawing his knees against his chest, Beyond stuck his thumbnail in between his teeth and began gnawing on it lightly.  “I’m really _happy_ I got to kidnap you.  Out of _every_ orphanage in that place, I got _you_.”

 

 

Mello took a step back, recoiling from B as if he’d just fired a G36 point blank into the man’s head, which he was seriously wishing he had.  The random enunciation thing B had going on was going to get old fast.  “I am nothing like you,” Mello spat.

 

 

“ _Yes_ you _are_.”  The man reached his hand out and gently stroked the hair from Mello’s eyes, tucking it behind the blonde’s ear.  “I see it in your _eyes_ Little Dear.  Yes, Little _Dear_ , I think that’s what I’ll call you from now on _._ ”  B chuckled, dark, silken clumps of hair falling across his face, obscuring the haunting red orbs from view.  Moving forward B glanced up at Mello from just beneath the fringe of his bangs, painting the picture of a grotesquely, attractive wraith with all the innocence of a poison apple in Mello’s eyes.  

 

 

“You have the _jazz_ ,” B purred in delight.  “The _spark_ to get what you want through any means _necessary_.  You got bored didn’t you?”

 

 

 “As interesting as this all is, you’re really not my type,” Mello quipped acidly, his entire body on the defensive.   For what felt like the hundredth time in the single hour he’d been awake, he was backing away from the creature sitting before him.  Really, Mello had to wonder, what the hell possessed him to get closer to the maniacal murderer?                        

 

 

B giggled, as if sensing Mello‘s thoughts.  “You find me _alluring_ don’t you?” B asked mockingly, climbing down from his table and coming to stand directly before the blonde.  He stood a good four inches taller than Mello, which only served to make the officious grin he was gracing the boy with all the more dangerous.  “Well, I _suppose_ there is _one_ big difference between you and _I_ ,” Beyond drawled in mild contemplation.

 

 

“What’s that?”

 

 

Beyond leaned in closer to Mello, resting his cheek on the boy’s shoulder, lips tickling against his ear like a glass feather.  Roughly nipping Mello’s ear lobe B whispered in a caricature of passion, “ _I_ would have thrown a bigger rock.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“L, are you sure you want to reveal yourself to them?” Watari asked, dropping a suitcase onto the bed of the penthouse’s master room, never mind the fact that he knew the bed was not even going to be used during their stay.  He couldn’t help but grimace in distaste at L’s sleeping habits, or lack thereof.   

 

 

L swiveled around from the desk that was set against the wall, lazily rotating in circles, knees brought up to his chest.  He stared over the caps of his knees as Watari began to pull white sweater after sweater from the luggage. 

 

 

“They come from the House, and they’re just as involved in this as we are,” L remarked casually, motioning for Watari to pass him his laptop.  The older man raised his eyebrows at the twenty-year-old’s impatience but passed him the laptop bag without comment.   

 

 

Logging in, L ran through his email account and clicked open the files Roger had sent him.  It included all the records of Beyond Birthday’s stay in the California Penitentiary along with the instructor reports and psychological evaluations of his top three successors.

 

 

If he was being honest with himself, he really wasn’t all that comfortable introducing himself, in person, to the boys.  He would have been fine presenting himself as nothing more than a former Wammy’s House resident, fashioning a cover as close to the truth as possible operate within the confines of.  But as he sped through the information Roger had sent him on each child, he felt doing so would’ve been an insult to their intelligence.  Not to mention things would’ve probably become a little messier once they discovered his true identity.  It was simpler in the end to just come out and say he was L.  But that didn’t mean Watari had to like it. 

 

 

“Showing yourself puts them in more danger than if they just stayed at Wammy’s,” the older gentleman said stiffly.

 

 

L glanced over his shoulder at the man.  “We both know I’m not B’s true target.  And I doubt he’d take a glance at any of the other children besides the top three.  Bringing them here, though it may not be safer, gives us a twenty eight percent chance of dealing directly with Beyond.”

 

 

“And that’s what you want.” It wasn’t a question but a resigned statement.

 

 

“It’s the best way to get the case over with quickly,” L said succinctly.   

 

 

Watari stared at his charge emotionlessly.  “This is Beyond we’re talking about L, not a band-aid.”

     

 

The detective didn’t need Watari to illuminate further on his point.  There was no way Beyond would make this case quick or painless.  The man wasn’t the type to allow himself to be easily removed from L’s skin, ripped off, leaving nothing more than a sharp sting in his wake.  B wanted a game, an opponent, and he wanted to leave an impression in the flesh of every player on the board.  At the moment, the player whose flesh was being seared off was Mello’s.              

 

 

It wasn’t destiny that led L to pass his knowledge of Beyond Birthday on to Mello.  At least L sincerely hoped it wasn’t, if it was than the Powers That Be possessed a cruelness humanity would never be able to survive.  Reading deeper into Mello’s file, L sighed.  Of all his successors, Mello was the one most like Beyond Birthday, and it scared the shit out of L.  That was why he’d thrown every scrap of information regarding Beyond at the kid.  It wasn’t luck, or destiny, or some other such crap.  It was a survival instinct.  Now L could only hope that the information he’d relayed was enough to allow Mello to contend with B.  L loathed hoping.   

 

 

The violent vibrating of Watari’s cell phone drew L’s attention away from his computer screen.  Silently, he observed as Watari picked up the phone and listened intently to the voice on the other end.  It didn’t take L’s superior deductive abilities to ascertain what that call was about, the weary expression on Watari’s face was indication enough. 

 

 

 “They’re here.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun begins next chapter.


	5. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light meets Sayu's fiance, Matt punches L, and shoes are a deadly weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the part of the story where each chapter gets increasingly longer.

Light Yagami had barely been in the city of London, England for two hours, and already he was missing San Francisco.  He missed the salt, the crisp morning fog, and the sound of cable cars as they slipped along brick streets.  To him, London was trite.  The streets were laid about randomly, without any thought to access or ease of transportation.  On an atavistic level Light was admittedly filled with some amount of respect for the city’s historical aspects.  The architecture was beautiful, in fact it was astounding that the buildings had survived years of humanities wear and tear.  But Light couldn’t bring himself to take in the sights.  As the cab he was in bounced uncomfortably through a pot hole, Light could only conclude that London paled in comparison to San Francisco. 

 

But then again, he thought as he vacated the cab, that assessment could very well have more to do with what he was about to do than the city he was about to do it in. 

 

Nodding to the Hotel doorman, he pulled his suitcase behind him and headed for the reception desk.  He already knew he had a penthouse suite, though again, he had no idea how that bit of extravagance had been pulled off.  Nor did he really want to know.

 

“Checking in sir?” the receptionist asked, a large fake smile plastered across her face beneath copious amounts of makeup. 

 

Light fought the urge to cringe as the woman appraised him appreciatively and he nodded stiffly.  “Yagami.”

 

 “Oh,” she cooed in what he hoped wasn’t supposed to be a seductive tone.  “The _penthouse._   Well, if there’s _anything_ you need Mr. Yagami, don’t hesitate to ask.”  She winked and handed him the key.

 

 Light smiled tightly, but said nothing.  Heading for the elevator, he glanced around the brilliantly lit vestibule.  Plush chairs surrounded a large fire place situated across from the front desk.  No flames were currently lit, but the subtle tinge of smoke that hung in the air informed him that the embers had only just gone out.  The marble that coated the walls, ceiling, and floor was beige, and artfully coated with a large oriental rug that ran from the revolving glass doors to the elevators. 

 

 There was only the one way out of the hotel, Light noticed grimly.  One had to enter and, most importantly, exit through the front door, unless one wanted to jump from a window. There was undoubtedly rooftop access as well, but that exit was even less desirable than a window.

 

 He rode the elevator to the suite in silence, twenty four floors.  With a sigh of relief the doors dinged open and admitted him into a quaint hallway with one set of wide double doors glaring at him.  Exhausted, he tugged the luggage across the short five steps to the door, swiftly swiping the key card into the automated lock.  The doors broke open and Light practically fell through the threshold, only to stop dead in his tracks.

 

 “Holy _shit_ Sayu…”  His eyes widened in shock as they swept across the room.  Light beach wood extended across the floor in a thousand panels, stretching to windows that took up the entirety of the walls, framed with dark polished mantels.  The center of the room dipped down three steps into a circular, carpeted pit, complete with caramel colored leather couches and a white coffee table.  To the left of the pit was a spiral staircase Light assumed led to the bedroom.   

 

 Leaving his things by the door he moved to the kitchen and started flipping cabinets open at random, ignoring the basket of fruit and platter of cheese that sat invitingly on the black, marble island.  He growled as he popped open cabinet after cabinet, snarling as he was met with porcelain plates, wine glasses, and even a bottle of scotch; but the coffee pot he searched for remained elusive.  There were several bags of freshly ground coffee lining the counter space, but no pot.  Slamming the last door shut he glanced around for a phone. 

 

Light stomped his way into the living space, quickly pacing around the dining area for anything remotely resembling a coffeepot before his pocket began vibrating.  Pulling the thin cell phone from the folds of his trousers, he smiled as his sister’s name flashed across the screen, irritation with his lack of caffeine forgotten.  Flipping the phone open he set it to his ear and opened his mouth only to be accosted by a loud shout of excitement.    

 

“Light!” His sister’s voice shattered the exhaustion that had set about his brain, effectively waking him up.  “You like the place?”  He could practically see her bouncing as she asked the question.

 

“Sayu, it’s-”

 

“Amazing I know!” She chirped before he could actually answer.

 

“Actually I was going to say  _unnecessary,_ but if you want me to lie to you I can do that. _”_

“Hey,” she protested, though he could hear the smile in her voice.  “Don’t you dare mess with me Yagami _Raito_.  Not at this moment in time.”

 

He smirked at the threatening tone that had overtaken her but kept his comments to himself.  “Right, so what am I doing tomorrow then?”

 

“Oh, you’re having brunch with us!”

 

“ _Brunch?_ ” he asked, struggling to keep the disbelieving contempt from his voice.

 

“Yes, it’s what happy couples do apparently, so you’ll be coming with us, and some of his family will be there too,” she explained quickly.  “It’s at Zaika on Kensington Road, be there at eight. Afterwards will be the rehearsal.  Now I love you and I’m glad you’re here, but I’ve gotta go!  See you tomorrow Onii-Chan!”

 

“Wait, Sayu, eight in the morning?” he nearly shouted into the phone, only to be met with silence.  She’d hung up on him. 

 

Clenching the phone tightly it took a lot of restraint not to throw the offensive thing on the ground and stomp it into nothing but metal dust.  There was no way he was getting up to go to brunch at eight in the morning.  Wasn’t the point of brunch to be in between the hours of breakfast and lunch?  When the hell did eight am fall into that time slot? 

 

Shaking his head irately, he reminded himself that this was only the beginning.  From here things would only get worse, never mind that it was supposed to be a _happy_ occasion.  Apparently the Yagami family just didn’t do happy all that well. 

 

He fell backwards onto the couch, buttery leather welcoming his body into its folds.  As he stared at the white ceiling, the warm glow of light glaring into his face, he recalled the name of the restaurant he’d be going to. 

 

Zaika.  It was an Indian restaurant.       

 

With a groan he rolled over, pushing his face into the couch.  Yes, this could only get worse. 

 

3B

 

The clacking of keys was getting on Matt’s nerves.  It’d been one hour since he and Near had arrived at the hotel and he’d only been addressed by L once.  The man hadn’t said anything about Mello, or what he and Near would be doing now that they in fact were here.  So Matt had settled himself across the plush loveseat, eyes closed behind orange tinted goggles.  On the inside he was a tumult of aggression and disdain.  Every strike of L’s fingers on the keyboard was like a light punch in the gut, not a heart wrenching pain, but enough of an annoyance to make him grind his teeth. 

        

The man before him was not what he’s been expecting whenever he drew a picture of The World’s Greatest Detective in his head.  In fact, the man he and Near had been introduced to looked more like the illegitimate child of the The Grudge and that Witch everyone would rather leave for dead, and that was putting it lightly.  To be honest, Matt didn’t know why his mental construction of L was the way it was.  He envisioned a man in a trench coat with a hat that would make Holden Caulfield proud, the stereotypical, iconic image of Sherlock Holmes.  Hell, he’d half expected to be dragged down some hidden passageway on 211B Baker Street.  Now, with the actual article faced before him, he was kicking himself for his own stupidity.  As if Wammy’s House was capable of turning out something so generic.

 

Near had seated himself on the floor in front of Matt, an array of brightly colored legos stacking themselves into skyscrapers around him.  The clearing of somebody’s throat startled Matt and he turned to view Watari, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a tray in his hands.  L and Near didn’t even acknowledge the butler. 

 

“Would you like anything to eat?” the founder of Wammy’s House asked.  Like L, the elder gentleman had not been what Matt was expecting.  In fact he hadn’t even made the connection that Watari and Quillish Wammy were the same person.  No doubt Near and Mello had known, them being the ones to pay enough attention to L’s casework and connect those dots.  He knew Wammy would be old too.  But he found it difficult to place the man acting as nothing more than a butler to the man who single handedly controlled the world’s justice system.  Matt didn’t know about anyone else but if he were a multi-billionaire inventor he’d be rather flamboyant about the whole thing, as in walking down the street in a fur coat and pimp hat, just because he could. Maybe he’d even build himself a suit of armor.

 

“No, I am fine Watari,” Near replied, emotionless, carefully mounting another lego atop his tower.  It was beginning to take the shape of Big Ben.

 

“Matt?” Watari turned to look at Matt, an inviting smile on his face.

 

“Uh, can I have a sandwich?” he asked slowly. 

 

“Of course,” the man nodded.  “And I shall fetch the usual for you L.”

 

The hunched over detective nodded but didn’t turn from his work and continued typing.

 

As Watari returned to the kitchen Matt felt another tinge of annoyance.  Acting on it he stood and moved to stand directly behind L’s plush, swivel chair.  That got Near’s attention.  Lego’s forgotten, the albino quietly observed the altercation that was about to take place.

 

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Matt asked, trying to sound as polite and respectful as possible.  But damn was it hard.

 

They typing stopped for a second, and then continued again.  “We are doing something.”

 

Matt stared hard at the back of L’s head.  “…then what exactly _are_ we doing?”

 

“Waiting.”

 

Matt nodded his head tersely.  “So we’re doing nothing?”

 

L finally stopped typing and swiveled around to stare up at Matt.  “As much as I hate to say it, we have very little to work with at the moment.  The note has no traces of evidence, and no one got a license plate number on the car.  That makes finding it difficult.”

 

“Why can’t we draw Beyond out?” Matt asked, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

 

“Because L doesn’t want the authorities involved,” Near responded quietly, gently setting another lego atop his Big Ben monument. 

 

“So we’re just going to wait until Mello ends up in a ditch somewhere!” Matt protested incredulously. 

                

L scowled internally at the boy’s sharp words, though his face remained passively neutral.  He recalled Roger mentioning something about Mello and Matt having a sort of codependence on each other in the files he’d sent over.

 

… _Mello and Matt are incredibly reliant on one and other.   At first the instructors thought it was a good thing, considering Mello’s volatile nature, to have him associate with someone calm and collected.  Not to mention when it comes to reigning Mello in, Matt is the only House resident who’s been able to get through the child’s thick skull and effectively shut him up.  But their relationship has since progressed into something that may prove to be a danger to them both.  I do not think they would be effectively able to operate without one and other, nor do I think a moment will come where they will ever want to._

It concerned him.  By the looks of Rogers’ report the two were dangerously dependant on each other.  Though Matt’s feelings for Mello would explain the boy’s lack of effort in his classes.  He managed to maintain third position in the race for the title of L, which was enough to keep Mello’s interest in him alive, but low enough not to make an enemy out of the hot-blooded teenager, as Near obviously had.  As it stood, L could not see how the pink haired teen was calm and collected, he came across as more snippy and caustic.  Though L hardly blamed the kid, he knew if he’d been sporting strawberry pink hair he’d been a little less than cooperative as well.

 

Narrowing his eyes in thought, L decided it was time to test the bond between the two boys.

 

“I fail to see why you are so concerned over Mello’s wellbeing.  You don’t even know his real name, how can you possibly know anything of consequence about him?”

 

L barely had time to regret what he’d said as a fist connected with the side of his head, knocking him out of the chair and onto the floor.  The detective supposed that he could be a little to rash in his manipulative tests at times.

 

Untangling his limbs he looked up at Matt with mild surprise.  “Ouch.”

 

The pink haired teen seethed, his breath coming in erratic gasps as he held back the urge to beat the crap out of the sickly thing before him.  There was no way this man was the person Mello had idolized his entire life.  No way was this callous bastard was even worth the thoughts Mello had devoted to him.

 

“You- you- I can’t- you- you _suck_!” Matt finally stuttered out, the words not as insulting as he would have liked, but the basic point was there.  “And you have no right to say I have no idea who Mello is.  I know everything about his skinny, reckless ass, more than you could ever hope to understand.  And don’t you dare say otherwise because I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case!”  Matt paused, glaring heatedly at L and waiting for his words to sink in.  “And because I know Mello _so_ well,” he continued, “I know that Beyond Birthday better be watching his own fucking ass because there is no way he’ll get one up on Mells.  Not a chance in even the seventh level of hell, which is the violent one.  So no!”

 

L blinked, of course the boy would come to that conclusion.  It was partially the reason he’d brought Matt to London.  L climbed calmly back into his chair, adopting the same crouch that had Matt thinking he was part frog.  But apparently the bond between the two was strong enough, at least from this end it was strong enough to resort to violence.  Ultimately, L figured the emotion would work in his favor as long as he channeled it correctly. 

 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” the detective commented.  “If you are confident that Mello can withstand B I’m sure he will.”

 

Matt brought his fist back with the intention of hitting the man once more only to have a foot go flying into his stomach.  With a gasp he fell backwards, skidding across the floor until his back connected with the couch.

 

“That is why we should devise a self defense course for the Wammy curriculum,” L stated as Watari rolled a cart of food into the living room.  “Too many people swiping at me with wild fists.”

 

Watari chuckled as Matt found his way back onto the couch.  If he hadn’t expected L’s appearance to be what it was, he had been expecting the man’s strength even less.  No doubt there would be a bruise the size of L’s foot on his stomach by morning.

 

Watari began unloading pastries along the desk L was situated in.  A two tier chocolate cake with an intricate design of swirls and spirals, a plate of chocolate chip cookies, strawberry scones, a strawberry cheesecake, and an assortment of brownies.  L absentmindedly picked a brownie from the mass of teeth rotting deliciousness.  At that point Matt didn’t even have the strength or the patience to contemplate the food L was ingesting and just nodded in thanks as Watari placed a sandwich in front of him. 

 

Washing his brownie down with a large bite of cheese cake, L turned to Matt.  “I admit this is not the most desirable of situations to begin a case with.  In fact, as this point I’d say Beyond had won the first round.  But it won’t be long until the man makes another move.”

 

“You’re gambling with someone’s life here L,” Matt said gravely.

 

“Yes, well, you’ll find I do that quite a bit.”      

 

3B

 

Light was beginning to rethink not acquiring an International Driver’s License.  Riding in cabs across London was not the most comfortable method of transportation, it was a nauseating one.  Or maybe it was just the conversation occurring between him and Naomi that had him on edge.  He really needed to block the woman’s number.  That or Raye needed to knock her up, he was tired of having her mothering instinct subjected upon him.  Weren’t there any other rookie recruits she could cluck at?

 

“Light,” she sighed once more, changing her point of attack.  “You know the Bureau would have given you time off to attend your sister’s wedding.”

 

He blinked in mild surprise before mentally cursing.   “How did you find out?”

 

“I _am_ a federal investigator Raito,” she said sternly.  “It’s my job to find out.  And there is no way you would have just quit your job to attend a wedding.  What’s going on Light?  This is stupid, especially with -”

 

“Naomi, I’m on vacation,” he interrupted as the cab pulled into the front of the restaurant he was meeting Sayu at.  “I’m here to relax and spend time with my sister.  Leave me _alone_.”

 

“I’ll find out what’s going on Light.  I will.”  And she hung up.

 

_‘That’s just what I’m afraid of,’_ he thought before pasting a nice, charismatic smile on his face and entered the newest level of curry smelling hell.

 

For an Indian restaurant, Zaika was not what he’d been expecting.  The room was bathed in bright, warm light, hardwood floors reflecting the beams of light onto green-olive walls and a high, white ceiling.  A sleek bar took up the corner of the restaurant, rows of wine and expensive liquors begging to be uncorked.  The rest of the area was sprinkled with white, linen table clothes, high backed, deep red chairs, and porcelain dishware.  Taking a tentative sniff he was pleased to note the lack of thick curry, instead inhaling the refreshing scent of light basil.  Apparently Sayu did have some semblance of taste.

 

“LIIIGHHTTTT!” But quiet the girl was not.

 

He looked up and smiled as a petite, Asian woman waved wildly for him from the back of the restaurant.  Sayu was waiting at the back of the restaurant, a small cluster of people surrounding her.  Two were men, one of which had his hand firmly clasped in Sayu’s own.  Light’s eyes were briefly drawn to the large rock sparkling up from his sister’s finger, and he couldn’t help but smile, even though he felt his heart pull at the sparkling sight.  A slender woman stood off to the side of his sister’s fiancé, dyed blond hair pulled back in a simple bun, dressed in a conservative, grey business suite.  The two men were adorned in a similar fashion.  It was enough to make his sister stand out vividly, her pink sundress a stark contrast from the muted tones of business attire.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad you came Onii-Chan!” Sayu moved forward and enveloped her brother in a hug, squeezing around his waist tightly.  Light returned the gesture enthusiastically. 

 

“You’ve been engaged for almost half a decade Sayu,” he said, smiling down at her and just taking her in.  Out of everyone in his family, Sayu was the only one who he’d never fully understood, and for that he cherished her.  “That’s half a decade of me constantly being harassed by Matsuda Touta, of course I came Sayu.”

 

His sister made a face at the police officer’s name.  “Way to ruin a happy reunion Light.”

 

A polite clearing of the throat interrupted the two and Sayu turned to face her boyfriend inquisitively.  “We’ll be waiting inside Sayu,” he said with a smile, nodding to Light as he led the other two strangers into the banquet room. 

 

She nodded sweetly and waited for them to disappear from view before she rounded on Light.  “You think I should have stayed with Matsuda,” she accused blithely.

 

“I think it’s your decision,” Light replied stiffly, knowing they needed to get this out of the way before he was properly introduced to his future brother in-law.

 

“Oh, so you’re just against the fact that I’m marrying _him_.”

 

“Honestly, yes, yes I am,” he said, meeting her glare with a sharp look of his own.  “Not to mention the fact that once Dad finds out you’re married to The Notorious One, _and_ that I was here to give you away, I’ll end up with a bullet in my head.”

 

“Mom would stop him,” she said with a roll of her eyes despite knowing just as well as he did that their father shooting his own son was a distinct possibility. 

 

“Yeah, and then she’ll make me wish he actually _had_ put a bullet through my head.” 

 

“Raito,” the syllables of his name slipped through her lips.  “You’re the one who arranged all this, the travel, the villas and apartments, and the eventual fact that we’d all end up here.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”  He deflated at the exhausted tone of her voice.  “And why I even enable you to go through this circus is a mystery to me.”

 

She brightened at the quip, knowing she’d won the argument.  “I think it’s because you love me!”

 

“No, I don’t think that’s it.”

 

She pouted but laughed, winding her arms around his arm.  Shaking his head at the girl’s antics, he nodded towards the banquet room, “Come on, show me who’s already here.”

 

She led him into the banquet room, which contained a single, long table that seated about fourteen people.  Food was set out across the white table cloth, steaming and fresh.  Laughter filled the room, as minor conversations took place between the members of the bridal party.  The three individuals Sayu had been chatting with before his arrival were situated at the head of the table, the blonde nursing and tall glass of champagne.  She was the only person in the room who looked displease with being there.  

 

“Raito, this is my fiancé Hachirou Junko, Hachi-kun, this is my brother Raito,” Sayu introduced.  Light smiled tightly as he gripped the hand of the man who was about to wed his baby sister, fighting the urge to shoot him in the face.  What older brother didn’t meet his sister’s fiancé without at least a 9mm securely tucked away?

 

Sayu seemed to sense Light’s distaste for the man as she quickly averted his attention to the unhappy blonde.  “This is his sister, Rei.  And this is his brother Kotone.”

 

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you all,” Light said politely, extending his hand to Rei.  She sneered at him and took a sip of her Champaign.

 

“Rei,” Hachirou hissed, a look of mild rage falling across his eyes.  But as quickly as it was there, it was gone.  The man had to be a master of his emotions considering his line of work.

 

“What?” she snapped.  “They’re _civilians_ ,” she stressed the word ‘civilian’ as if it were a piece of dung someone had thrust beneath her nose.  Light raised an eyebrow at the petulant woman, but her comments didn’t end there.  “Not to mention it’s a joke for you to even be marrying this girl at all, let alone for you to see her walk down an aisle in _white_.”

  

Light had never wanted to hit a girl so much before.  Sadly though, his sister beat him to it, which admittedly was a bit more socially acceptable, not to mention sent a wave of pride through him.  The harsh _slap_ echoed through the dining room loudly, effectively ceasing all conversation and drawing the attention of the rest of the bridal party.  Sayu’s eyes burned with a mix of emotions, none of them at all positive ones.  Her fists were balled tighter that rubber band balls, ready to spring back up and deliver a beautiful new style of eye shadow to her future sister in law’s left eye, one that would be lasting about a week.     

             

“I happen to _like_ wearing white Rei.”  Sayu said, skipping forward and taking her fiancé’s hand in apparent mocking.  “Don’t be a bitch, just because the color makes you look constipated.”

 

Rei’s eyes widened as she regarded Sayu in stunned astonishment.  She turned to her brother as if expecting him to do something in her favor, but he just wrapped his arm protectively around Sayu’s waste, causing Light to smirk.  In utter disbelief, Rei whipped around and stalked from the room, her heels clicking angrily across the wood floor.  The moment the door shut behind her applause broke out from the rest of the bridal party.

 

“And you made her a bridesmaid why?”  Light glanced at Hachirou’s other sibling.  The man looked like a carbon copy of his brother, except for his hair which was a dark black, a slight difference from Hachirou’s own brown locks. 

 

 “I thought it’d be fun to make her wait on me,” Sayu replied flippantly.  “Now, let’s eat!”

 

3B

 

He watched the petulant woman stalk from the restaurant and out onto the street.  Tears were welling up in her eyes, but he felt no amount of sympathy for the little cunt.  He’d never had much respect for people who dyed their hair bleach blonde anyway.  It was always better when natural, he thought, thinking back to the boy he’d left bound and gagged at his place.

 

The woman moved towards the parking garage situated a few blocks away.  Peeling back into the alley way he moved through the back alley of the streets and headed in the same direction.  The layout of the area was pretty well mapped out in his mind.  It was eight in the morning too, which meant that few people would be out and about.  Things were always harder when he had to worry about an audience.  More amusing yes, but there was always the danger of turning one harmless murder into a mass homicide, which never reflected well on his sanity.    

 

 He followed her into the concrete structure lithely, keeping silent and out of line of her peripheral vision.  She stopped at her car and leaned against the side door, the sound of her deep, calming breaths chainsaws on his ears.  He really didn’t like her.  The three inch stilettos would be much better suited to being rammed through her chest, just below her heart.  He’d let her bleed, the blood running in a slow river across the parking lot’s asphalt, blending in with the oil stains and dirt.  And she’d be panting, crying even harder, her tears diluting the blood with salt.     

 

As it was, she didn’t make any noise at all as he grabbed her from behind.  She was too skinny, he noted dully, as the knife plunged its way into the small of her back.  The searing pain sent her into shock, the bones in her body quacking against the muscle spasms until she fell unconscious, head lolling back against his shoulder.  She was weak, no fun at all.  The perfect victim was one that fought, screamed, gave reaction as their body was mutilated.  The greatest victim was the one that remained silent through the torture, accepting their fate with a mocking grin at their assailant.  But those victim types remained as nothing more than mythical figures in the lighter portions of Beyond’s imagination.  When he’d seen her come from the restaurant he’d been hoping for a new experiment, but she was nothing more than a letdown.  He comforted himself with the fact that he’d have more opportunities later.

 

The blood that had gushed from the stab wound now coated his hand like a vinyl glove.  Dropping her body to the ground he examined the knife critically.  Even her blood was dull in color.  Kneeling down he methodically removed a stiletto from the girl’s foot, smiling as he saw that the sole of the shoe was as red as the blood now collecting beneath her car.  Drool ran from the corner of her mouth, swirling into the crimson liquid that saturated her clothing.  Whith a snort of disdain Beyond knelt beside the body, a sinuous chill running up his spine as his sneakers made a soft splash in the blood.  He could feel the liquid seeping through the canvas of his shoes, warmly ghosting against his toes.

 

Flipping the girl’s body over, he rammed the spike of the heel into the girl’s back just hard enough to leave a faint impression, yet with not so much force that he’d stab her again.  A large portion of him wished that the pain would wake her up, but he knew it was unlikely given the liters of red that now decorated the parking space.  But he continued with his patter, ramming the heel into her back, grinning all the while.                     

 

 In the end it was one of the easiest kills he’d made.

 

3B

  

Beyond sauntered back into the ballroom only to halt in face of the murderous glare he was met with.  Taking in the sight of the irritated blonde B burst out laughing.

 

 “Okay, fine, go ahead and laugh you fucking asswhipe,” Mello snipped.

 

Beyond graced him with a large smile before walking further into the room, pulling his bloodied shirt over his head and depositing it on the floor as he went.  He had to have a stash of clothing somewhere, Mello knew, he just wasn’t sure where.  It left his thoughts of escape looking rather bleak, the ballroom being a beautiful platform that dropped off into god knew where.  If he made it out of the gilded hall he’d be nothing more than a blind mouse in a maze.  Algernon without any flowers.   

 

“I am not an asswipe,” B stated.  “I am an asshole. There’s quite a difference in job description there.”

   

With a growl Mello rocked back and forth in the chair Beyond had left him in, pulling against the chains and tape that were wound about his chest, legs, and arms.  He was way past humiliation at this point.  Never mind that he’d been treated as nothing more than a crippled plaything at the hands of a childish monster, but said monster had made quick work of him.  As soon as B had dragged the chair through the double doors, rolls of tape falling down his arms like bangles, Mello had run, only to be tackled with an elbow straight to the back of his neck.  He’d balked out and woke up bound to a rocking chair.  It had been an uncomfortable few hours to say the least.        

 

“So you won’t torture me, but you will chain me to a chair with duct tape, electrical wire, and rusted iron links?” Mello snapped humorlessly as the serial killer made no move to untie the teenager.

 

Beyond paused in his trek across the room to stare at his hostage uncertainly.  “Is that _not_ the point of a _kidnapping_?”

 

Mello decided it had been a stupid question.  “So who did you kill?  A pregnant woman, little boy and his puppy, or did you forego the personal touch and just blow up a retirement home?” he asked sweetly.

 

Beyond cocked his head to the side and smiled that demented grin of his that Mello was becoming way to familiar with.  Moving a red checker piece, now stained with B’s bloody thumb print, to stand in front of the chocolate monster, B replied with a simple nod of accomplishment.  “I killed _you_.”

 

3B

 

The lunch was progressing nicely, Sayu thought with a smile as a slice of Coconut Burfi was placed before her by a waiter.  The mix of almond and coconut taunted her taste buds sweetly.  Softly spearing a corner of the dessert with her fork she let out a sigh of contentment as the exotic flavors met her tongue, heightened by the low murmur of conversation that echoed around her and the fact that her fiancé and brother had yet to kill each other.  The last part was only natural she supposed, given that the two worked on opposite sides of the law.  But still, it was nice to not see blood staining the table cloth of her rehearsal brunch.

 

How was that for nontraditional?  A rehearsal brunch, not a dinner, but a tacky mixture of breakfast and dinner.  After a five year long engagement consisting of running from the authorities, and more importantly, her father, she was finally able to settle down and get what she wanted.  As much as it pained her to admit it, she owed her brother big time.  Not that that would ever be admitted out loud, but it warranted the purchase of a yearlong supply of Starbuck’s finest.

 

 The soft vibrations from her dress pocket distracted her from the heated debate take place between her brother and fiancé.  Pulling out the phone she flipped it open and pressed the speaker to her ear.

 

 “Hey Kyo, you know you didn’t have to go after her,” Sayu said, fondly noting her best friend’s good nature.  “None of us would really mind if Rei stayed -”

 

 "Sayu, she’s dead.”             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, about the Indian food. I mean no offense, and I’m sorry if I seem to be bashing on it, but I take pleasure in making Light suffer at the hand of food. I wanted him to be continuously subjected to a type of food he hated, and Indian Cuisine is what came out of the hat. It isn’t personal.
> 
> As for murdering people with a pair of Christian Louboutin’s, that I have no qualms over.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. Please review.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated! 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr (http://a-useless-bag-of-fandom.tumblr.com/) if you have more questions/comments... or if you just want to talk about RDJ's biceps.


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